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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29175795">That's a No On The Coffee</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueerAndCantHear/pseuds/QueerAndCantHear'>QueerAndCantHear</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Bright Sessions (Podcast), The College Tapes (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adam is the barista, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops &amp; Cafés, It's A Coffee Shop AU, M/M, caleb is a himbo, just pretend they've never met, literally no one asked for it</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:33:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,508</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29175795</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueerAndCantHear/pseuds/QueerAndCantHear</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Caleb and Adam coffee shop college AU that no one asked for.<br/>It's self-explanatory. Caleb meets Adam The Barista in a coffee shop and has a freakout with Sadie about it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Adam Hayes/Caleb Michaels</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Meet Cute</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I walk into the coffee shop, caught off-guard by the onslaught of feelings. <em>Fucking finals week</em>. I stare down at my shoes, desperately trying to regain my balance as the waves of anxiety threaten to knock me off kilter. <em>Deep breath, Caleb. No need to lose your head.</em> Except I’m so buried in my own finals anxiety that I really can’t brush off everyone else’s. But hey, could be worse, at least everyone’s focussed? The students that hang around the coffee shop to study carry anxiety in a way that’s familiar. It makes me focussed, makes me want to keep working and push myself – like Sam’s. It can get overwhelming, the waves can bring me under and sometimes I have to leave, but usually I can cope with it.</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p><em>Get in, get your hot chocolate, get out. </em>I repeat my three-step plan, trying to cling onto focussed-anxiety to get me in and out instead of the wandering, spiralling anxiety that threatens to drown me.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“ – ya?” I look up and realise I’ve made it to the front of the line and absolutely did not hear a single word of the poor guy’s question.</p>
<p><em>Say something cool, feelings boy.</em> “Huh?” <em>Oh, very cool.</em></p>
<p>“I asked what I can get you?” His feelings are confused but…warm? <em>God he’s so fucking cute</em>. “I see you’re stuck in your head about finals too. I assume a coffee?”</p>
<p>“No.” <em>Oh for God’s sake, just say more words.</em></p>
<p>“Is that a no on the coffee or the finals?” His feelings are now just plain confused, verging almost on frustration at my bluntness, but there’s still that warm orange of warmth.</p>
<p>“Sorry.” I sigh and rub my hand over my face, suddenly super grateful that I was last in line to order and no one has walked in behind me. If I’m going to be stupid, I can at least not waste this poor guy’s – and everyone else’s – time. “That’s a no on the coffee. It’s just so gross? Makes me jittery.” He laughs and raises an eyebrow, the frustrated feelings dissipating. “Not that I’m not after the energy. Obviously studying requires energy. Just that coffee doesn’t taste good and I prefer sweet things and I figure that coffee might keep me awake for studying but the taste of it is basically torture and studying for my finals is <em>also</em> torture so why torture myself twice when I could just as easily give myself a nice reward for existing and completing some actual fucking practice exams?” Oh <em>God</em>, I’m rambling. His fond smile matches his feelings though – amused, caring. I shrink in on myself and mutter a quiet apology.</p>
<p>“So…” He blinks at me, still smiling.</p>
<p>…oh, shit he’s waiting for an answer. “Right, so, I’ll have the largest hot chocolate that you could possibly make.” His feelings get impossibly more orange.</p>
<p>“Whipped cream on the top?”</p>
<p>“Of course. What do you take me for? A caveman?”</p>
<p>“Absolutely not! A meathead, maybe. But caveman with no whipped cream? Never!” He gasps dramatically, raising a hand to his heart.</p>
<p>“Dork,” I whisper under my breath. <em>Oh shit he heard me</em>. His feelings get this dark red streak of embarrassment, but remain mostly orange – fond, amused, happy, thrilled at this back and forth.</p>
<p>“I’m Adam, by the way.” He smiles and it reaches all the way up to his eyes. His – <em>Adam’s</em> – brown eyes sparkle and his head tilts to the side just slightly as he waits for me to respond.</p>
<p>“Uhhh” Oh <em>fuck, </em>I’m so overwhelmed by his feelings gently caressing mine that I’ve forgotten my name. His feelings laugh but his face remains neutral, thankfully. I couldn’t handle it if he actually laughed at me, however kind it may be. “Caleb. My name. My name is Caleb.” Another point for the Great Amazing Feelings Boy.</p>
<p>“Well Caleb, I’ll be back in a moment, I should go make that Guinness World-Record Sized hot chocolate.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I watch him go, desperately trying to come up with conversation topics for when he comes back. By the time I’ve thought of two or three safe ones, planned a script in my head, and shaken my hands in front of me to get the nervous energy out, he’s already returned with my drink. He holds the drink out precariously to me, smiling at me happily.</p>
<p>“So, Caleb, what do you study?”</p>
<p>Crap. He’s so good at conversation. He’s way too cool for me. “Psychology. You?”</p>
<p>“Oh psychology hey? That’s pretty interesting! Why did you choose that?”</p>
<p>Before I get the chance to tell him he hasn’t answered my question, he gets called by a coworker to help him. Of <em>course</em> the rush starts up again just when I was being smooth. Just my friggin luck.</p>
<p>“Gotta go, sorry. Duty calls!” I nod and smile at him. He leans around the coffee machine and grabs something. I go to say goodbye but he holds something out to me.</p>
<p>“Uh, I’m good, thanks.” He’s holding a coffee sleeve out to me, but it’s so cold outside that the hot chocolate will warm me up nicely.</p>
<p>“Trust me, you’re going to need it.” He says it with such conviction that I assume he knows something about milk temperature that I don’t. You don’t argue with someone who pushes his determined feelings onto you like that, so I take it and smile at him, putting it on my coffee cup.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I walk back to my just-off-campus apartment, already desperately missing Adam’s feelings. Other than my family, I’ve never met someone who’s feelings fit so well alongside mine in all the years of having this ability. Guess I’ll have to start going back to that coffee shop more often. It was a little out of my way today, which means it’s also out of the way of the college so I figured there would be less students…didn’t exactly pan out but I literally don’t care right now.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This hot chocolate is also the best thing I’ve ever tasted. Elixir of life, even. And totally not just because Adam made it. Absolutely not.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Michaels!” I smile as Sadie opens the door while I fumble for my keys.</p>
<p>“Hey Sadie. How’s the study going?” I walk inside, cradling my nearly empty hot chocolate to my chest.</p>
<p>“Don’t even talk to me. The S-word is forbidden for the remaining time left on my break.” She feels tired. Focussed, knowledgeable and prepared. But tired.</p>
<p>“How long you got left on your break?” I ask, wondering if she’d like to play something.</p>
<p>“Let’s see.” She looks up at what I can only assume is an imaginary schedule, working out how many minutes she’ll allow herself. “Okay so my exam is on Friday and today is Tuesday so give or take forty-eight to seventy-two hours?” She says with a laugh.</p>
<p>I roll my eyes and laugh with her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sadie eyes my coffee cup suspiciously and snatches it out of my hand.</p>
<p>“Hey!” I make grabby hands at her but she slaps my hands away. “That’s mine.” I’m defeated – not that I tried that hard though. It’s just a cup. She can have it if she wants.</p>
<p>“Who is Adam?”</p>
<p>I almost get knocked over by the sudden onslaught of curiosity and excitement that rushes up my spine, settling in my chest – not quite like Adam’s, but the feelings are familiar enough nonetheless.</p>
<p>“Who?” I aim for nonchalant, leaning my hip onto the kitchen bench…and sliding right the fuck off. I flail for a second before my Jock Reflexes kick in and I grab the bench, steadying myself.</p>
<p>“Oh yeah smooth, Michaels.” She laughs and slips the coffee sleeve off the cup, handing it to me. “Looks like someone met a boy at the coffee shop today!” She’s excited, amused, caring. She’s got this glint in her eyes that makes me hate her for being so involved…but also love her for being my best friend.</p>
<p>“Yes fine he was my barista today.”</p>
<p>“Quite the conversation must have happened then?”</p>
<p>“Oh for sure. I said lots of intelligent things.” She laughs, knowing I’m an absolute idiot around cute guys.</p>
<p>“Well, he must have seen something in you because he gave you his number.”</p>
<p>I turn the coffee sleeve over in my hands and smile broadly as I see his name, number and a little smiley face written on it. My heart SOARS and I’m on a high right now. Sugar high, probably, but regardless, it feels like I’m going to explode.</p>
<p>“What can I say? I make an excellent impression on people.” Again, I aim for smooth but instead end up with a high-pitched excitement. Sadie joins in on my excitement, and for that, I am grateful.</p>
<p>“You <em>are</em> going to call him, right?” Sadie phrases it like a question, but her tone and emotions tell me that it’s an instruction, not a question.</p>
<p>And oh, how I want to call him. “Do you think I should? What if he was just being nice?”</p>
<p>“Ah yes, the amount of people who just put their numbers on my coffee cups just because they’re kind and want me to stare at it for five minutes and throw it away is <em>astounding</em>.” <em>She has a point</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I’ve been staring at the number for two hours on and off. I keep trying to distract myself with my study – but when has study ever been a useful tool for distraction?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fuck it. I’m going to call. I can totally call him. I’m an adult now. An adult with a phone. An adult with almost a whole year of a degree. An adult. I make phone calls now because I’m an adult. An adult that makes phone calls. And with that in mind, I walk into the kitchen, grab my phone…and make a cup of tea.</p>
<p>“Michaels! Called the sexy barista yet?” I blush, both in embarrassment and shame.</p>
<p>“Not yet. I’m just making tea.”</p>
<p>“Tea? Why?”</p>
<p>“Because I’m thirsty?”</p>
<p>She sighs and looks at me, exasperated. “Michaels. Call the guy.”</p>
<p>“I know, I know.” I sigh and grab my phone from where I left it on the counter, tentatively dialling his number.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Hey, you’ve reached Adam Hayes, I’m either working or studying, so leave a message or just text me and I’ll get back to you when I can. </em>*Beep*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sadie’s looking expectantly at me, confusion flooding my chest as I hang up and put the phone down.</p>
<p>“Message bank.” I explain.</p>
<p>“Dang it.” She looks disappointed. “Maybe he’s busy?”</p>
<p>“Mmm,” but I don’t really have much to say, I don’t have much of a response. Disappointment weighs heavily on my chest and I realise it’s not coming just from me, but Sadie too. “I could text him?”</p>
<p>The disappointment lifts, and it’s replaced with hope and excitement. “Now <em>that</em> is an excellent idea!”</p>
<p>“I’m going to my room.”</p>
<p>“Wait <em>what???</em> Michaels, let me be a part of this!”</p>
<p>“I’m don’t need you to proof read my texts, I’m not in high school!”</p>
<p>“Caleb,” she wines, drawing out the last syllable of my name.</p>
<p>“I’ll let you know how it goes!” I yell, already retreating to my room.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I take a deep breath, trying to work out what to text. Do I start casual? Do I jump right into things? Maybe I should have let Sadie help me.</p>
<p><em>Caleb, you’re an adult. You’re not just the Great Amazing Feelings Boy. You’re now Mr Great Amazing Feelings Boy and you can send a fucking text</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><strong>Caleb 3:42pm: </strong>hey Adam, it’s Caleb. from the coffee shop this morning. hope it’s not weird that I’m texting.</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p><em>And send. </em>Hopefully that’s good? That’s good right? The minutes tick by, turning into hours. I can’t believe he’s not texting me back. It’s been close to what, four hours now? Five? He probably didn’t even mean to give me his number. I’m about to finally go and harass Sadie, make her play videogames with me to soothe this loss when my phone buzzes and I get a rush of adrenaline.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><strong>Adam 3:45pm:</strong> Hey Caleb! It can’t be weird for you to text – I literally gave you my number ;)</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>3:45pm??? </em>I check the time on my watch to make sure that’s right, and it is. I could have sworn it had been hours. Okay, maybe I overreacted a bit.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><strong>Adam 3:45pm:</strong> Did you try to call me?</p>
<p><strong>Caleb 3:45pm: </strong>yeah sorry. thought i’d be an adult about it and ring?</p>
<p><strong>Adam 3:46pm:</strong> Ah, sorry! I heard my phone ring (well, vibrate – who takes their phone off silent?) but I ignored it! I wouldn’t have ignored it if I had known it was you.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Oh FUCK is he flirting??? </em>I’m going to die.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><strong>Caleb 3:46pm:</strong> i hope i’m not interrupting anything?</p>
<p><strong>Adam 3:47pm:</strong> Nah, you’re not. Just study, but I’m always looking for a reason to procrastinate.</p>
<p><strong>Adam 3:47pm:</strong> And you might be the best reason ;)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I think I might actually already be dead. No way I’m still functioning. He’s the cutest fucking guy I’ve ever seen and he’s flirting with me. Or is he just being friendly? This might be friendship.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><strong>Caleb 3:48pm: </strong>what are you studying? forgot to ask today – sorry</p>
<p><strong>Adam 3:49pm:</strong> English! I’m just a hoe for Shakespeare</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I laugh at that. <em>God he’s just so fucking cute</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><strong>Caleb 3:51pm:</strong> i should have guessed your major from the way your texts are so eloquently written</p>
<p><strong>Adam 3:51pm:</strong> Says the guy who just used the word ‘eloquently’ in a text message</p>
<p><strong>Caleb 3:52pm:</strong> sorry i’m so smart – can’t help that i’m this flawless</p>
<p><strong>Adam 3:52pm:</strong> You definitely are both smart and flawless</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Oh <em>God</em> what do I even say to that? Is this friendship still? I groan. Loudly.</p>
<p>“You hollered, my liege?” Sadie appears out of nowhere.</p>
<p>I stare at her, mildly terrified. “I think we’re flirting?”</p>
<p>“Caleb, you’re just not my type, we’re definitely not flirting.” She smirks.</p>
<p>“Sadie, help me, I’m freaking out.”</p>
<p>“I noticed.” She motions for me to scooch over as she walks towards my bed, grabbing my phone and reading the text chain so far.</p>
<p>“Okay, yeah, this is good.” She scrolls back up. “That’s a good quality man right there, dude.”</p>
<p>I groan – her feelings are getting sticky and excited and it’s making my skin crawl.</p>
<p>“I can work with this.”</p>
<p>I haven’t got any fucking clue what that means, but her thumbs are hitting the screen with such force that I worry she’ll break my phone. She stops, reads it, makes an affirmative noise…and just as I think she’s going to show it to me to read, she hits send.</p>
<p>“Sadie! What the fuck?”</p>
<p>“I’m doing you a favour, Michaels!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I reach for my phone, desperate to know what she’s written. Her feelings are smug, so I know she’s proud of herself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><strong>Caleb 4:04pm: </strong>i don’t suppose you want to hang out, do you? i would really love to</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She hasn’t capitalised any words, which is very un-Sadie-like, so I know she at least tried to act like me. But adding ‘I would love to’??? She’s making me seem desperate. I tell her as such.</p>
<p>“Nonsense. He’s been keen so far, no reason that’ll change.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The little grey dots of death pop up on the screen. They disappear. They pop up. Then they go. <em>Again</em>. This is genuinely excruciating.</p>
<p>I yelp and drop my phone as it rings, surprising both Sadie and me. I look at Sadie and I get a pulse of exasperation as she gestures for me to pick up the phone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Um. Hi?” I stammer.</p>
<p>“Hey Caleb!” Why is he so cute on the phone? “I figured it would just be easier to call and talk to you about your text, so I did that. I hope that’s okay?”</p>
<p>“Oh. Yeah. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that. It’s totally fine that you don’t want to go out.” I’m rambling and starting to freak out, but it’s finals and I’m gay panicking and I’m entitled to it, okay? “I mean, my friend sent the text anyway,  so I totally get it! You gave me your number so we could be friends. Or maybe you didn’t even mean to give me your number, it was just a mistake. An honest mistake. Which is fine! Totally fi – “</p>
<p>“Caleb.” He interrupts me. “Take a breath.” I do – I didn’t realise I hadn’t breathed since I answered the phone.</p>
<p>“Sorry.”</p>
<p>He laughs. <em>His laugh is so cute WOW.</em> “Can I talk now?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, sorry.” I reply, feeling embarrassed. Sadie gives me a pointed look and retreats out the room, rolling her eyes as she does.</p>
<p>“I gave you my number on purpose, I promise. And I’ve been flirting with you the whole time, how did you not notice that?”</p>
<p>“Uhhh…I thought maybe it was a friend thing?”</p>
<p>He laughs that sweet, beautiful laugh again. “Definitely not a friend thing. I really do want to go out with you.” My heart stops, it genuinely stops. “I called so we could work out schedules easier.”</p>
<p>“Oh, right, okay, yeah, okay,” <em>Smooth, Michaels</em>.</p>
<p>“But if your friend sent the text and you really don’t want to go…”</p>
<p>“No!” I rush to correct him. “I mean, she did send the text, but I want to go. She only sent it because I was too chicken to do it myself.”</p>
<p>“Aw, that’s actually kind of cute?” I blush furiously. “So, let’s plan a day.”</p>
<p>I make a noise of agreement, excitedly bouncing a bit on my bed.</p>
<p>“Does Saturday work for you? We could do a morning thing? Breakfast maybe? Not my work though.”</p>
<p>“Saturday morning is perfect!” I can’t keep the excitement out of my tone as I count the days until then. <em>Only four torturous sleeps!</em> “I love breakfast!” I cringe at my own words.</p>
<p>“That’s good to hear. I do too. I’m sure I’ll love it more if I spend it with you though.”</p>
<p>I make some kind of noise that’s between excitement and embarrassment, which he hopefully understands. “I can’t wait.”</p>
<p>“I’ll text you an address and a time tomorrow?” He asks.</p>
<p>“That sounds perfect, I’m excited.” <em>Yeah Caleb. We know you’re excited.</em></p>
<p>“Me too!”</p>
<p>“I should probably get back to study.” I say, after a few beats of not-at-all-awkward silence.</p>
<p>“Yeah. Me too,” he sounds deflated, but I think that’s the finals mood.</p>
<p>“Goodnight, Adam. Study hard.”</p>
<p>“It’s only evening, Caleb. But goodnight to you too.” I smile. “See you soon.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. "Meathead", "Dork"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Adam and Caleb's first date. Caleb and Adam are constantly in a state of gay panic, but they somehow manage their date.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I check my reflection in the dark café window and fix my hair, sweeping it to the side – only to have it flop back down to its original position. While I’m at it, I fix the collar of my light blue button down, smooth the shirt, and give myself a little mental pep talk. <em>Walk in, get a hot chocolate for me and a coffee for Adam – wait, shit, start again. Walk in, meet up with Adam, get drinks, walk out.</em> I’m still smoothing down my shirt and deciding whether it looks better tucked into my black jeans or left out (spoiler alert: it’s tucked in), when there’s a tap on the glass.</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Oh fuck.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Adam waves at me from his table inside the café…right opposite where I’ve been straightening myself out. He smiles his adorable smile at me and laughs, gesturing for me to come inside. I smile sheepishly back, eyes widening and I flush in embarrassment, and head inside.</p><p> </p><p>I breathe deeply as I enter the café, inhaling the emotions of the twenty or so people already inside. I lock onto Adam’s emotions pretty quickly, feeling them slot into place beside mine, and I shake all the foreign feelings out through my hands as I follow the trail to Adam.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey!” Adam stands up to greet me, and I can feel his hesitation. He’s not sure whether he should hug me or just wave – and to be honest, neither am I.</p><p>I settle for a small wave, a big smile and a “hey Adam” in return.</p><p>“Not to pry or anything,” his feelings are yellow with curiosity and light red with…embarrassment? But it’s directed <em>at </em>me? Oh, second-hand embarrassment. “but were you giving yourself a pep talk outside?”</p><p>“Ummm,” <em>mental pep talk not so mental I suppose. </em>“No?”</p><p>He laughs. “You’re a bad liar, Caleb.” He feels giddy.</p><p>Desperate to change the subject, I suggest we go and get our coffees, and he agrees.</p><p> </p><p>“I assume that’s still a no on the coffee?” He asks with a laugh as we stand in line.</p><p>“Oh for sure. Hot chocolate for me! With –”</p><p>“With the whipped cream and marshmallows, of course.” He smiles, feeling proud of himself for interrupting me.</p><p>Oh my God he knows my order. <em>Of course he knows your order you absolute disaster, you literally got asked out via said order</em>. “I’m no caveman.” I reply with a smile that threatens to overtake my entire face. My own feelings are bubbling out of my chest, trying to make their escape and I shake my hands by my side again. His feelings are overwhelming me too, but in a good way.</p><p> </p><p>“Is it alright if we sit outside? Maybe in the park?” I point to the park across the street. His feelings get confused and a bit anxious. “It’s just loud in here is all. I just want to be able to hear you.” I’m not lying – it <em>is</em> loud, but not in the way he thinks. I don’t want other peoples’ feelings taking over my first date with Adam, I want to feel just mine and his.</p><p>“Yeah, of course.” He smiles, the anxiety and confusion replaced with a shyness that verges on insecurity and disbelief, and happiness that almost shouldn’t go together, yet they make perfect sense.</p><p> </p><p>We sit down opposite each other on the picnic bench in the park. I can feel his hesitation, like he wants to say something but doesn’t want to say the wrong thing, and I think I’m feeling the same thing. But his feelings start spiralling in a weird way that I can barely keep up with – one moment he’s happy, the next he’s overwhelmed by anxiety, so I try to break the spiral with conversation.</p><p>“English, hey?” I break him out of the cycle with a short sentence – clearly it was too short because I’m flooded with his confusion. “Your major,” I clarify.</p><p>“Right! Yeah!” As he speaks, a low buzz of excitement begins bubbling and suddenly asking about his major goes from a basic interest to a full-blown requirement to know everything I can about his love for it.</p><p>“How come you picked English?” I press, desperate to uncover his secrets.</p><p>“I was rebelling.”</p><p>I smile, raising my eyebrows and laughing a bit. “Nothing like going to college to study poetry to really stick it to the man?”</p><p>He laughs back, he genuinely laughs. And I could get lost in that feeling, that <em>sound,</em> forever. “My parents are neuroscientists, you see,” he explains. “They got me every anatomy and physiology textbooks they could as a kid, but the only thing I was interested in was the fiction, and eventually the set of Shakespeare plays my aunt gave me. Pretty sure I was the only person who ever even touched that book. So, you know…” He trails off.</p><p>“Rebelling,” I finish, smiling.</p><p>“Yep!”</p><p>If I thought he was passionate about his major, it was nothing compared to the overwhelming thrill and marvel I got from him when he said the word ‘Shakespeare’. “So, still a fan of Shakespeare?” I ask, desperate once again to know more.</p><p> </p><p>He absolutely lights up and I can tell he’s going to talk and not stop for a while – I revel in the feeling. “Yeah! I just love the way he writes; I love the way he’s so utterly incomprehensible in the beginning when you’ve never read anything like it, yet as you persist, you realise that he’s writing something that’s so relatable and close to the way you’re feeling – obviously not the murder bit,” he backtracks, “but everything else.</p><p>“The way he describes love, the way he describes the tragedy of falling in love against the family’s wishes, the way he talks about betrayal and family and free will…I just – I don’t know!” I’m nodding along enthusiastically, absolutely drowning in the way he feels right now. He must pick up on my excitement because he takes a breath and begins again. “He’s got such a unique way of writing free will, right? You’ve read Macbeth?” I nod. “Right! So, the witches made prophecies that they knew would drive him to do stuff, Lady Macbeth encouraged him to do things that she knew were bad, that everyone knew would drive him to do things and drive him crazy. And yet Shakespeare writes Macbeth so that he chooses what he wants but is so convinced that he doesn’t have any free will even though that’s <em>exactly</em> what he’s got!” He’s practically bouncing in his seat and I can barely hold onto the excitement as it courses through both of us. He opens his mouth and revs up for another go at Shakespeare but seems to catch himself, the anxiety and hesitancy back in his feelings, blocking him from continuing to talk.</p><p> </p><p>Adam had been talking with his hands and as the hesitation fills him, his hands drop to the table and his face falls simultaneously. Without thinking, I reach over and place my hand on top of his in an attempt to reassure him that I was genuinely enjoying his Shakespeare ramblings. We lock eyes and his hesitancy turns to surprise and full-blown anxiety as he turns his hand over and lifts both our hands together to interlock our fingers, elbows resting on the table. It’s awkward but it’s perfect.</p><p> </p><p>My heart is racing, and I can’t tell if it’s my anxiety and excitement or his, but I strongly suspect it’s both.</p><p>“I really love hearing you talk about Shakespeare, I like the way it feels when you get excited.” I’m so caught up in the feelings and the hand holding that I barely even register what I’m saying before it’s too late.</p><p>He tilts his head to the side quizzically and some of the excitement is taken over by sharp jabs of curiosity. “What do you mean?”</p><p>I fumble, trying to recover from this slipup. “You know, I just like watching you get excited and it feels nice watching you be so passionate about Shakespeare, is all.”</p><p>The yellow cones of curiosity recede from his feelings, replaced by bubbly warmth and embarrassment, and he blushes. “So, tell me about you?”</p><p>“What do you want to know?” I ask, ready to answer anything. Well, <em>almost</em> anything.</p><p>“Psychology? How come?”</p><p>“I guess I just have an affinity for knowing how people feel?” <em>Not technically a lie</em>. “And I really do like helping people, so I thought I could put both of those to good use?” I’m shy, nervous about what I’m telling him. I don’t want him to think I’m trying to ‘fix’ people or anything, just that I want to help.</p><p>“That’s a good reason to do something, especially if you’re both passionate and talented at it.” I blush. “You’d definitely be good at helping people, I can see you as a psychologist.”</p><p> </p><p><em>Oh God he thinks about me</em>, I think and then immediately chastise myself for getting too excited.</p><p> </p><p>We’re still holding hands, and I’m not entirely sure he’s noticed. I didn’t even notice until right this second, and he notices at the same time filling my chest with surprise and warmth (and just a hint of embarrassment).</p><p>I don’t really know what to say and I can tell that he doesn’t either. I go to remove my hand from his grip, well aware that my hand is getting sweaty from the nerves coursing through me, but as I do, he grips harder and I’m full of my own surprise at the gesture.</p><p>“Oh, sorry, I can give you your hand back.” He begins to let go, realising he’s probably grabbing my hand without me wanting him to.</p><p>“No! I thought maybe if you wanted your hand back or if I was making you uncomfortable or if I was getting too sweaty then I could give you your hand back?”</p><p>“I’m quite alright holding your hand, actually. I, umm,” he hesitates. I keep holding and encourage him to keep talking. “I really like it, it feels right.” He dips his head just a little, hiding his furious blush.</p><p>“I like it too, your hand fits nicely in mine.” I smile back at him as he looks up. “Even if it is a bit small.” I jab.</p><p>“Hey!” He laughs. “Not my fault you’ve got big jock hands, meathead.”</p><p>“Dork!” I quip back, losing myself in the cacophony of happy feelings.</p><p> </p><p>I bask for a few minutes in his emotions while he…I don’t know? Emotes? What do non-empaths do during beats of silence?</p><p>“Do you want to go for a walk with me?” He asks, confidence flowing through him like I’ve never felt before.</p><p>“I would love to. Where are we going?” We go to stand up and with a beat of regret, I realise I’m going to have to let go of his hand to get up.</p><p>“I could walk you home?” He offers, the nervousness returning, but it’s covered in a quiet yet smothering hope.</p><p>“That would be really nice. It’s only about a half hour walk?”</p><p> </p><p>As we walk, I learn more about his family, his college life, his best friend Caitlyn. I learn about his aunt and how much he looks up to him. There’s an intense admiration and reverence that shows up when he talks about her, and I would love to meet her, so I tell him as such.</p><p>“That would be really nice, I think she’d really like you.” We quickly realise the promise we’ve both made – to stay together long enough to get to the ‘meeting the family stage’, but it’s not a promise that weighs either of us down heavily, just one that sits right, just like Adam’s feelings inside me.</p><p>I tell him about Harry Potter and I get overly enthusiastic, waving my hands around and taking his with me every time I gesture hugely. I tell him about my sister and how close we are and he tells me that he’s excited to meet her. Another promise, and I’ve never been happier.</p><p> </p><p>“This is me.” I say, coming to a stop as we reach mine and Sadie’s apartment.</p><p>“I had a really nice time with you today, Caleb.” Adam is being genuine and that knowledge makes my heart soar again, just like it did when I saw he gave me his number.</p><p>“I really, <em>really</em> did too.” I say, squeezing his hand for emphasis, smiling at him.</p><p>“Would you like to do it again?”</p><p>“More than literally anything else.” His turn to smile and blush. “Are you free tomorrow?”</p><p>“Tomorrow is rather soon, is it not?” He’s joking though, I can feel that much, so I know I haven’t jumped the gun and committed a dating faux pas. “I’m kidding, I’m free. I’ll pick you up from here around twelve? We can walk to this lunch place I know down the road. It’s pretty secluded so I promise there won’t be too many people.”</p><p>His consideration for my sensitivity to noise (or whatever he thinks it is) is touching and I want to tell him the truth. Instead I smile and squeeze his hand again, “yeah, that sounds perfect. I’m already counting down the hours.”</p><p> </p><p>I can feel him <em>wanting</em> something, and I’m distracted trying to work out what it is when he suddenly removes his hand from mine. He cracks his knuckles and takes a deep breath.</p><p>“I’m going to kiss you now, is that okay?”</p><p>His question places the unknown feeling of want fall into place, right beside mine, and I’m gently grabbing his face with my hands before I can think too hard, and I kiss him. His feelings of surprise are surpassed by happiness. A pure, untamed, uncontainable joy flows between us as we kiss. It’s the best kiss of my life.</p><p> </p><p>I can still feel the kiss on my lips and his feelings in my chest for hours after he leaves, and I mentally count the hours until midday tomorrow, already knowing it’s too far away. I so desperately want to tell him the truth about my ability today, but I didn’t. I know I won’t tomorrow either. Not because I don’t think I should, but because I’m one hundred percent confident that there’s more than enough time for us to get to that conversation, he’s not going anywhere. Adam Hayes is the boy I’m going to spend my life with, and nothing in the universe can convince me otherwise.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>We're just going to go right ahead and assume in this AU that Adam's aunt really IS the amazing lady that Adam loves because please, my son deserves that love? He needs it.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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